Crossing the Street
by MerpTheMerp
Summary: The heated water caused the fresh wounds on his arm to burn, but it was a welcome burn. The water rinsed away the blood, drying and fresh, in pink rivets. / AU. Self-harm, very minor ZexionDemyx. Can trigger.


**_I wrote this story about a month back (I think) and just haven't really been able to decide where to end it. I finally went back in, sorta finished it, and said, "Screw this, I'm posting it." So here it is. xD_**

**_And before I get crap for posting about cutting and stuff, let me explain - As of late, I've been going through what I think is just a melodramatic teenaged thing but... you know, in most movies I watch and things I read, those minor bouts of faux teen depression I've heard about (just down in the dump days) don't last for weeks on end. They don't happen for no apparent reason (though I assume stress is at fault) and they shouldn't expand until you do stupid things. Like self-harm. So, let me say this - I know how real this problem is. I know that it can be addicting for some people (like myself). This story was written so I could blow off some steam and just... get something out._**

_**(Yeah, Demyx is me, Larxene's my sister Stephanie, and Zexion is one of my best friends.)**_

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><p>He pressed his chest to his knees, nose so close to the ground he could feel the coldness radiating from the tile. The only sounds in the room were those of the steady <em>drip-drip-drip <em>of water – damn that leaky faucet - and his own ragged breathing.

His right fist clenched around the metal razor. The sharp edge nicked his skin and brought beads of blood to the surface. That didn't matter, though. What were a few drops in comparison to the rest dripping down his forearm?

Slowly, he pulled back and sat up straight. Aquamarine eyes fell to his left arm, slowly scanning the clean-cut gouges in his skin. Blood, crimson and warm, dripped from each gash, falling in steady lines down the curve of his arm and dripping to the floor. It would be easy to clean up.

The doorknob jiggled, and the teen's head snapped up.

"Demyx! Are you going to the bathroom?"

He paused, giving himself time to steady himself and erase all evidence of previous tears in his voice. His tear-stained cheeks were another matter. "No."

"Open the door, then. I have to put my contacts in," Larxene sighed tiredly from the other side of the door. Demyx watched the shadows underneath the door shift and sway with the movements of his sister, just seventeen months younger.

"'kay. Gimme a second."

Hurriedly, he snatched the closest towel – his own for showering – and used it to clean the blood from the floor. His left arm, useless for the moment, was held out awkwardly until Demyx could jump into the shower. Tossing the towel to the side, he quickly stashed the razor blade behind the toilet, stuck to a piece of double-sided tape.

"I'm naked, so… wait a sec before coming in." He heard the grunt of acknowledgement as he quickly stripped out of his boxers and cast them aside. Flicking the shower faucet on, he leaned over and unlocked the bathroom door before quickly jumping inside. A moment later, the door swung open and in stepped his tired, disheveled sister, the light lipstick she'd used the day before smeared across her smooth, freckled cheeks. Demyx couldn't help but smile to himself as he tugged the frosted shower door closed. It didn't matter to him that Larxene could see the outline of his bare ass. They were siblings by blood, the same ones who had shared a bathtub at ages three and four and finger painted naked outside until ages six and seven. It was just a butt.

Demyx reached down to pull the tug on the faucet, redirecting the water to the showerhead. The teen gasped as freezing water shot out and hit his skin. Thankfully, the water warmed to its usual scalding temperature for the male's shower after a few long seconds. The heated water caused the fresh wounds on his arm to burn, but it was a welcome burn. The water rinsed away the blood, drying and fresh, in pink rivets.

Larxene watched from the corner of her eye the way Demyx simply stood under the water, rubbing his left forearm in slow, smooth circles. She could see the blurred lines cut through his flesh, though she didn't comment. She knew what had happened, and she knew that whatever she said would have no effect. She'd tried before. So instead, she chose to keep quiet. Though she was failing academically, she was smart. If her parents were informed of Demyx's continuing habit, they'd take away his razors. And that would only produce more scars on the eldest's body.

* * *

><p>Demyx winced slightly as he moved to push his sleeves up. The inside of his jacket had stuck to his arm, pulling at the forming scab. Oh well. It was too hot to be bothered by such a trivial thing.<p>

Unless it started bleeding again… as it had been doing all day thus far.

He kept his arm down, hovering near his thigh. It was easier to press his arm against his leg and have his black jeans soak up the blood.

He could feel Zexion's stare boring holes into Demyx. The taller of the two glanced up, locking eyes with the other. Zexion raised an eyebrow and glanced down the part of the table hiding his arm. Demyx shrugged slightly and looked away. Of course Zexion would notice. He was too damn perceptive.

Demyx's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. The blonde sighed before pulling it out.

_From: Zexy :D_

_We're walking to my house after school._

_Thursday, XX/XX/XXXX 12:18 PM_

He sighed and quickly texted back an unargumentative "fine" before slipping the slim phone into his pocket.

* * *

><p>"So…" Zexion started.<p>

"I don't know why."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"Same reason as always."

Zexion sighed. "Dem…"

"Don't," Demyx interrupted. His eyes didn't meet Zexion's, instead focusing on the loose threads in the recliner chair. They were in Zexion's apartment, alone, the shorter resting on the couch and Demyx in his claimed recliner. "I already know. I'm fucking up my body, it accomplishes nothing, things will get better, find a different way to cope… You've said it all already, Zex."

"Then why do you keep doing it?" His voice remained calm. Demyx couldn't decide if he appreciated the cool-headedness or hated that he could keep so calm when the taller of the two was getting himself worked up.

"For the same reasons as always. Why else?"

"What happened this time?"

"… I woke up."

Zexion sighed again. He ran his fingers through his dyed hair, briefly exposing his forehead and other eye before they both disappeared from view again behind a veil of blue-tinted silver. "Demyx, you need help. You said you were getting better."

"Yeah, and then I wasn't."

"Can I at least see your arm so it doesn't get infected?" When Demyx said nothing, Zexion stood and moved to crouch beside him. Slowly, the blonde extended his arm for the other to see. Zexion frowned, and pulled Demyx to his feet.

Tugging him into the bathroom, Zexion examined the other's arm under a better light. The cuts were deep but to the side of the vein. They both knew Demyx was too cowardly to cut across the street, choosing to stay on the sidewalk instead. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing…

With a cold, wet rag, the shorter teen gently dabbed at Demyx's arm, wiping away the dried blood and generally cleaning the cuts. He could see what little fat the blonde had in his cuts.

"You're an idiot, I hope you know…"

"Yeah, you've told me," Demyx muttered, situating himself on the countertop while Zexion worked.

They lapsed into silence while Zexion worked. Neither wanted to break the silence.

Demyx couldn't explain why he did it anymore. Was he depressed? Was he an attention whore? Maybe he was just masochistic.

He couldn't be depressed. It would ruin his father's "picture perfect family". Not that they had one to start with. Maybe it would shatter the illusion to have a son – an openly gay son – diagnosed with depression.

He wasn't an attention whore. He hid his scars with long sleeves and, despite his outgoing nature amongst friends, kept quiet in class. He rather preferred to keep the attention away from himself.

Masochistic? Maybe emotionally, but not physically. He hated pain. He cut for the scars.

Then what was it? Maybe he was simply crazy, insane by the social definition of the word. Was he addicted to the razor? Without a doubt in his mind. He craved and needed it.

It took a bit, but eventually, Zexion was done. Demyx's arm was disinfected and wrapped in soft gauze Zexion had kept from the brief time he himself had self-harmed. Then again, that was nearly a year ago.

"Thanks, Zex…"

"Thank me when I'm wrapping your arm for the last time," he murmured in response. He had stepped back and was now leaning against the back wall. "I don't like seeing you hurt, Dem. What… what happened?" His voice sounded unsteady.

Demyx glanced at him before looking down to the counter again, stained in random spots by spilled hair dye. "What happened when?"

"At the end of last year," Zexion clarified. "You used to be so happy, like nothing could touch you. You smiled every day and nothing ever got you down."

Demyx slowly stood from the counter, tugging his sleeves back down to cover his gauze-wrapped arm. "Life. Life happened." Without another word, he turned and left the bathroom. He snatched his backpack up from the floor and left through the front door.

Zexion sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He hesitated before running after Demyx.

"Dem!" he called, looking around once outside. The blonde disappeared around a corner, taking off at a run when he heard Zexion call for him. "Demyx!"

_Stop trying to help… Please, Zexion…_

He continued running, moving as quickly as he could for the break in the fence that would allow him to escape Zexion more easily. If he got through, he could cut across—

But he wouldn't make it as far as the fence. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he'd failed to notice the fast approaching footsteps.

The two teens fell to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs and restraining hands. Zexion had tackled Demyx to the ground, now trying to pin him enough to keep him from possibly hurting both of them.

"Dem! Calm down!"

"Get off, Zexion!"

"Not until you calm down and talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to anyone..!"

Zexion rolled his eyes. "Quit acting like a child and talk to me, damnit!"

Demyx stopped and looked up at him, eyes narrowed slightly. Tears had already sprung up. "Why? What do I have to say to you, Zexion? I'm sorry I'm not normal? I'm sorry I can't cope in healthy ways? I'm not you! I can't get over this like you can!"

"Yes, you can."

"No… No, I can't… I can't, Zex…"

Without another word, Zexion pulled Demyx into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around the other's thin frame. The blonde gripped at the other's shirt, his face pressed against the smaller teen's throat. His shoulders shook as he tried to keep himself from outright sobbing.

What had brought this on? He couldn't figure it out even as wave after wave of tears made their way down his cheeks to drip onto Zexion's shirt. Demyx's fingers gripped the back of his shirt with a white-knuckled hold. Any tighter and he felt the fabric might rip.

Cool hands slowly ran up and down Demyx's back, rubbing gentle circles into his spine. Zexion was the first to admit that he didn't know how to console people; he didn't know what to say. All he knew was, when it came to Demyx, just let him tire himself out and then try to talk him through it. Don't ignore it. Don't give him advice when he's still worked up.

They sat there for half an hour, Demyx latched onto Zexion like his life depended on it, sobs wracking his frame, and Zexion holding Demyx as gently as he could, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Are you alright now?" Zexion asked softly when Demyx had grown quieter.

The blonde nodded in response, slowly pulling back. He apologized softly.

"For what?"

"Ruining your shirt… and freaking out on you," he mumbled, sitting back on his feet as he rubbed at his eyes. He looked like crap, he assumed.

"It's nothing, Demyx," Zexion said with a soft smile. "I've seen you at worse."

The blonde couldn't help but let out a short, quiet laugh. Zexion had indeed seen worse from the taller of the two; walking in on him naked and dripping from a shower, hearing him in the midst of an orgasm… finding Demyx with a bloody kitchen knife pressed against the vein in his arm.

"Thanks, Zex…"

Zexion leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Demyx's forehead. "Come back to the apartment. You look terrible, no offense intended, and you didn't eat lunch."

Demyx nodded and pushed himself to his feet. Together, they walked back to the small apartment owned by Zexion and his father, walking rather close together.

* * *

><p>"Are you going to be alright when you go home?" Zexion asked with a tinge of worry to his voice. It was dark out now, the sun having set long ago. Demyx, with his bag over his shoulder, stood on the doorstep to his friend's apartment.<p>

"Yeah. I'll be fine," Demyx reassured him.

"Alright," Zexion responded slowly. "Call me if anything happens, alright..?"

The blonde nodded and, with a smile, stepped back and began walking home.

* * *

><p>"<em>911 operator. What's your emergency?"<em>

"_My son! H-he's not breathing..! There's blood everywhere..!"_

"_Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?"_

"_Demyx! Baby, come on..! Please!"_

"_Ma'am, I've managed to trace your call. An ambulance is on the way. Please stay on the line with me until it arrives."_

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><p>Zexion stood straight-backed by the entrance sign to his apartment complex. His fingers twitched around the cell phone he held in his palm, and his lungs burned from holding his breath.<p>

"_Z-Zexion… I-it's too… too deep… I-It won't stop!"_

"_Wait, Dem, what won't stop?"_

"_The… the bleeding! I-I can't… sh-shit…"_

"… _Where did you cut yourself?"_

"_I-I…"_

"_Demyx! Where did you cut yourself?" Zexion rarely showed any side of him that wasn't sarcastic and quick-tongued or completely disinterested. For him to panic and begin to yell was almost a novel concept._

"_The... I-I didn't realize… how close I was…"_

"_To what? To the vein?"_

"_Y-yeah… Z-Zex, it won't stop… I'm sorry…"_

"_Stop. I know what you're doing. Don't you _dare _start apologizing to me. Get off the phone with me and call 911, damnit!"_

"… _I love you… 'k-kay? J-just… remember that…"_

"_Shut up, Demyx! You're not going to die! Hang up and call 911!"_

"_I really… really love you, Zex… Y-you're my best friend, a-and… I'm sorry it was… never more…"_

_Zexion's eyes smarted. "Sh… shut up, Dem… Call 911..! You're not going to die."_

"_I love—"_

_And the line went dead._

Tears coursed down Zexion's cheeks, falling to his jawline before dripping to his shirt. Pearly-white teeth sank into the plump flesh of his lower lip before the teen sank to the concrete, his head in his hands and phone dropped to the cool ground, forgotten.

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><p><em><strong>Is he dead or did he live? Your choice.<strong>_

_**(Yes, I know the title has very little to do with the story. v-v;;)**_


End file.
